Page 32 of The Devil Wears Kilts
So now it was her turn to attempt to minimize the Hanovers’ connection to the MacLawrys. It would likely be wise to do so, if even half of what Ranulf had told her was true. There were times, though, that she prided herself on being true rather than wise. “My mother was dear friends with Eleanor MacLawry,” she said, “and Janie and Rowena have corresponded over the years. We were delighted she was able to come down to London for her Season.”
“I see. Lady Rowena’s civilized enough, I suppose. But you’d be wise to keep your distance from the brothers.”
A chill crept up Charlotte’s spine. “And why is that?”
Slowly he handed her card back. “Because they’re outspoken and stubborn and refuse to keep up with the changes in the world. It’s a dangerous combination, my lady, and people around them tend to get hurt.”
Oh, dear.She glanced down at her card as he vanished back into the crowd. He’d written his name by the evening’s second quadrille—the one immediately after the first waltz. Which meant that Ranulf would have to hand her over to Berling.
If she wanted to keep the peace, evidently she was going to have to work a miracle to do so. The easiest solution would be simply to leave—immediately. Charlotte looked over at Ranulf, who was currently writing his name on Jane’s card. Half the women present at the soiree seemed to have found urgent business on that side of the room, as well.
They all wanted to dance with him, and she could hardly blame them. He could say she’d bewitched him or some such nonsense, but there did seem to be… something drawing them together. Because otherwise she couldn’t explain why she’d already decided to remain and dance at least one waltz with him.
Chapter Six
If Ranulf had been of a mind to share his—or someone else’s—bed after the soiree, it would have been a simple thing to manage. As he walked over to the refreshment table one young lady even blocked his path to give him her name, her address, and to tell him which upstairs window she would leave open later that night. It was all done behind the cover of her ivory fan, but she said it, nonetheless.
Fortunately for all the English lasses, and likely for him, he had no intention of entangling himself in their pretty ribbons and well-manicured nails. He took a swallow of the whisky he’d liberated from a footman’s tray, eyeing the dance floor over the rim on his glass. Well, perhaps there was an English lass he wanted in his bed, but that wouldn’t be happening tonight.
He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything as exquisite as Charlotte looked this evening. The emerald of her gown chased all the brown from her hazel eyes, and the pearls and gold chain in her golden hair glinted like starlight. She’d piqued his curiosity and his interest almost from the moment he’d set eyes on her. But now, tonight, his thoughts were more physical and more difficult to ignore.
He couldn’t be the only one to notice her, but in the evening’s first four dances she’d partnered with her father, that Henning fellow, a bent-shouldered lad who looked enough like her mother that he had to be a relative, and now an older man whose jolly wife used a cane and currently sat in a chair against the wall, cheering every time the couple rounded to her side of the room.
Finishing off the glass, he set it on a passing tray and signaled for another. The country dance had already been going on for ten minutes. One silver-haired woman had fainted, and two other couples had left the dance floor and sought chairs. It was still tamer than a clan gathering; until someone had gotten bloody, it wasn’t a party.
When his uncle walked past for the third time since the dance had begun, Ranulf relented. The problem with spending so little time out of the Highlands was that he wasn’t as well acquainted with the extended clan members of those families who’d relocated themselves southerly. And his uncle would be, however questionable his judgment. “Myles,” he said, as his uncle crossed the ballroom yet again.
The viscount stopped. “I’m not here to intrude, Ranulf. I was invited. I merely didn’t want my presence to surprise you.”
“I’m nae asking ye to leave.” He backed closer to one side of the room, and his uncle followed. “I know the redheaded lout, the one in the brown coat, is Berling’s younger brother.” With his chin he indicated the burly fellow from the earlier encounter at the park.
“Yes. Dermid Gerdens. He’s not the most brilliant of men, and he has a short temper on top of that. Not a pleasant combination.”
“And the thin fellow by the fire has the chin of Campbell.” The otter from the park still wore black, and still looked just as oily.
His uncle moved closer. “You have a good eye, lad. That’s Charles Calder, old William Campbell’s grandson. I saw two of his cousins off in the gaming room earlier.” He accepted a glass of wine from one of the wandering footmen and took a generous swallow. “In other words, Ranulf, you are badly outnumbered here tonight.”
“I promised Rowena that I wouldnae make trouble.”
“Ah. You’ve an interesting way of going about that, then.” Myles flicked a finger at one of the buttons on Ranulf’s sleeve. “Not that you exactly blend in with London Society, anyway.”
Why the hell did everyone keep seeing the need to point that out? “This is formal attire for any fancy Highland party. Ye know that. And the lot of ye here must’ve seen a piper before, at least. I’ve nae idea what’s so bloody shocking.” He had meant to be as much himself as he could possibly manage, but he’d actually expected to be shunned, not mobbed by females.
“Mm-hm. Since you’re speaking to me I won’t argue that you know precisely what’s so bloody shocking.”
“Aye. If the Bruce had known the Sasannach could be so easily overset by a bare-arsed Scotsman, we might have marched down through York naked and saved all the bloodshed.”
Myles snorted, then recovered himself enough to frown again. “You’re generally more cautious than this, Ranulf.”
Myles moved against the wall beside him, so they were both facing the crowded ballroom. And as much as Ranulf hated to admit that London Society had him in over his head, it was pleasant to have another set of eyes to watch for trouble.
“So why don clan colors with enemies all around?” Ranulf finished, then scowled. “I blame the lass.”
Myles frowned as well. “What lass?”
“The emerald one.”
“The…” His uncle searched the dance floor. “Lady Charlotte Hanover?”
